


Pancakes for Breakfast

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-23
Updated: 2005-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-31 10:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6466519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley comes to visit Giles on Christmas Eve.  S1 Ats/S4 BTVS</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pancakes for Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

The pounding noise was making Giles’ head ache terribly. He tried to shut it out with a pillow from the sofa, but the noise continued, merely muffled a tad. He threw the pillow across the room and stood on shaky legs. The pounding was coming from the direction of the door. He turned the doorknob in irritation. “What?” He snarled.

Wesley blinked, taken aback by Mr. Giles’ condition. “Um…Happy Christmas Eve!”

Giles looked at Wesley bleary eyed. “Wesley? What are you doing here?”

Wesley indicated his parked motorbike. “I drove Cordelia down to visit her family for the holiday. I thought I would stop by, see how you are. It’s been awhile.”

Giles nodded. “Yes. Graduation. When I blew up my library.” He noticed the bottle of port in Wesley’s hand. “You may as well come in, pour us a drink.”

“Seems to me you have already had quite a few.” Wesley noted, coming inside and watching Giles stagger over to the sofa.”

“Yes, well, it’s nicer to toast with two, but there was only me, so I had to handle it myself.” Giles explained, slurring over the words.

Wesley nodded. “I see. Well, alright.” He poured two glasses of the port he had brought and settled on the sofa next to Giles. “Let’s toast then.”

Giles took his glass. “To…the past.” He clinked glasses with Wesley and downed his drink. 

Wesley took a sip. “The past? How far past?”

“Our past, at Sunnydale High School, last time I was useful.” Giles replied.

Wesley sighed. “I am sorry to hear that you have not found gainful employment yet. I sometimes think upon those days too, not all the memories are bad. There were good things too…you, me, in the library, those late nights researching the mayor…do you remember?”

Giles snorted. “I am drunk, not addle-brained, of course I remember. You wouldn’t loosen your tie even when we were there all night. Do you wear a tie when you shag too?”

Wesley’s head snapped back. “Pardon?”

Giles shook his head. “Never mind.”

Wesley leaned forward, touching Giles’ knee. “Are you sure you are well Mr. Giles?”

Giles rolled his eyes. “For Christ’s sake Wesley, my name is Rupert. For the millionth time. I am not your boss, or superior. “ He leaned wearily against the sofa. “I’m sorry, Wesley, I am not up to company. I think I would really like to lie down.”

Wesley stood quickly. “Oh. Yes. Well. I’ll just see myself out.”

Giles waved his hand in a sort of goodbye and stumbled towards the stairs, tripping immediately. Wesley hurried over. “Let me help you.”

Giles said nothing, but leaned on Wesley as they headed up to his bedroom. He sat down heavily on the bed, sighing loudly. Wesley leaned over and helped him off with his shoes and laid him back, pulling the duvet over him. “I’ll just be going, um…goodbye Rupert.”

Giles smiled as he lay down. “There, much better.” He reached out his hand, brushing against Wesley’s fingers. “Stay? Just a bit. I don’t…I don’t want to be alone.” He said with pleading eyes.

Wesley hesitated, not sure what to say. “Well, I suppose…the Sunnydale Inn isn’t too exciting in any event. Only two non-pay channels on the telly.” He perched on a chair in the corner.

Giles patted the bed beside him. “Come on, don’t be shy. I’m not going to bite you.”

Wesley gave a nervous laugh. “Of course not.” He came over and sat on the bed.

“Better, better, now I don’t have to shout.” Giles said, closing his eyes tiredly. “I don’t like the holidays. I don’t need a reminder that I am alone in the world. And I have no place in it either. It’s really rather depressing. And the fact that it is a bloody eighty degrees out doesn’t help. I should have gone home to Bath. It would be snowing there. I miss the snow.”

Wesley smiled wistfully. “I miss the snow sometimes too. Los Angeles is always balmy and sunny; it can be rather terrible at times.”

Giles chuckled. “ See, you understand. Buffy looked at me as if I was quite mad when I told her the same thing.”

Wesley leaned back, propping his head up on his elbow. “No, no, I understand. We have more in common then you realize Rupert. I had…I had always hoped we could have become closer, had it not been for Council politics.”

Giles nodded absently. “Perhaps. The thought crossed my mind more then once as well. Can you shut off the light, it’s hurting my eyes.”

Wesley dutifully stood, shut off the light and came back to the bed. “Rupert? Do you want me to go now? I’m not really sure what to do.” He said fretfully.

Giles rolled over on his side and pulled the duvet higher. “Wesley. Take off your bloody shoes and get into bed with me. I’ll make you pancakes for breakfast. Come on, we both lived in a dormitory house before.”

Wesley hesitated, and then took off his shoes, then his suit coat, tie, and belt, sliding under the covers and looking at the ceiling in the dark. Giles rolled over and casually slung an arm over his chest. “Thank you.” He said tiredly, drifting off into alcohol induced dreams. 

Wesley gently stroked the arm over him. “It’s not a problem. I rather like being here, with you, Rupert.” He started, swallowing hard and deciding to go for broke. “I have….feelings for you, you know, or don’t know. Or know now actually, because I just said so.”

He paused, and started again. “I understand that you may not reciprocate those feelings, which is fine, really, I just thought you should…know.” Wesley waited, hoping Rupert would say something, anything, back to him, but there was silence. 

“Rupert? Are you angry at me?” No answer. Wesley sighed. Wonderful, he thought to himself, Rupert fell asleep while I was giving my big speech. He took a long breath, let it out and decided it was better this way, no awkwardness to deal with now. No speech about friendship and such, it was all tosh anyway. They weren’t friends. Not really. 

Wesley took off his glasses and laid them on the nightstand quietly, settling down to go to sleep. He felt Rupert move suddenly, leaning up and surprising Wesley by kissing him so softly that it was almost like he wasn’t even there. Wesley made a tiny noise in his throat of desire and pressed forward in the dark against Rupert’s mouth, wide and wet and smoky tasting from the port. Their tongues danced together for a moment, the sound of their breathing heavy in the quiet room. “Wesley…” Rupert said softly against his lips as they caught their breath, pressing his hand against Wesley’s cheek for a moment…then turned over and fell asleep.

Wesley panted; shocked by what happened, and equally shocked at how quickly it was over. His body and mind quivered with need and confusion for hours before sleep claimed him, and he kissed Rupert over and over again in his dreams. 

 

***

 

“Bugger! My head is killing me!” Giles exclaimed, trying not to vomit on the carpet. 

Wesley blinked awake slowly and turned over. “Rupert?”

Giles looked back at him with a sheepish smile. “Wesley? God, I don’t even remember you being here beyond that glass of port. Sorry about that. I was really out of it. Thank you for looking after me.”

Wesley sat up and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “My pleasure. I mean, you needed someone, and I wanted to be here, for you.” He looked at Rupert intently, wondering if it would come back to him, the kiss, the confession, anything, but Rupert looked back at him guilelessly, and without memory of anything that transpired.

Wesley stood and gathered his things. “I’ll just be on my way.”

Rupert waved his hands. “No, no, least I can do is feed you. It is Christmas morning, let’s not have it alone, yes?”

Wesley nodded slowly. “I’ll just freshen up then, if you don’t mind.” He went into the bathroom to shower and clean up the best he could. Giles wasn’t in the bedroom when he came out. He went down the stairs and shut off the whistling kettle. 

Giles came out of the guest bathroom combing his hair, looking rather perky now that he was shaved and in clean clothes. “Let me, let me, you are the guest.”

Wesley went to sit on the stools and watched Rupert make breakfast in the tiny kitchen. He set everything on the tea tray and two plates, and brought it to the table. As he went back to gather napkins and forks he looked at Wesley under the archway pass-through and smirked. “Lean forward.” He said.

“What?” Wesley asked, frowning in confusion. 

“Lean forward.” Giles repeated. Wesley did, the frown stuck on his face, and almost fell off the stool when Giles kissed his cheek with a loud smacking sound. 

He held his cheek like it had been burned. “What was that for?” He asked in a shrill tone.

Giles shrugged, realizing that may not have been the right thing to do, and pointed up. “Mistletoe. I think Willow hung it up. Good luck or fertility or some such thing. I only remember using it to get with girls in Academy at the holiday parties.”

Wesley chuckled nervously. “Sorry, I thought…never mind, best left forgotten.”

Giles gave him a half smile and put the utensils on the table. “We should eat, before it gets cold.”

“Yes, of course.” Wesley agreed, going around to wash his hands in the sink. He turned and Rupert was leaning forward in the pass-through. “Something wrong?” 

“No.” Giles said, waiting.

“Alright.” Wesley said, standing still.

Giles raised his eyebrows. “Alright?”

Wesley took a step forward. “Alright.” He wrapped his arms around Rupert’s neck and kissed him firmly on the mouth, leaning over the counter somewhat precariously. 

“This isn’t working.” Giles complained, breaking the kiss with a scowl. 

Wesley stepped back, his cheeks burning red. “No, of course not. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Giles rolled his eyes and came around, taking a fistful of Wesley’s shirt in his hand and pulling him towards the sofa. “Not you, you git, the counter being in the way.” He pushed him down and settled on top of him, running his hands up Wesley’s chest. “Must better. Now to do something about these clothes…”

 

***

 

Wesley licked the syrup from his fingertips, giving up on the rubbery, re-heated pancakes. He leaned back against Rupert’s chest and watched the flames flicker in the fireplace. It was really too hot for a fire, but the effect was beautiful, and comforting. “You really don’t remember?”

Rupert kissed the top of Wesley’s head. “Sorry, love. No. But does it really matter now?” 

Wesley shrugged. “I suppose not. Still, it was our first kiss, and all.”

Rupert ran his fingers over Wesley’s and interlocked their hands. “But not our last, and that is much more important, I think.” 

“You’re right.” Wesley said with a laugh. “Want me to start reading? You said after we ate you wanted to read something Christmassy.”

Rupert settled against the sofa and nodded. “Yes, please. Then we‘ll order Chinese, and I‘ll have my wicked way with you, again.”

Wesley looked up at him and kissed him gently. “Best Christmas of my life, Rupert.“ He turned to the first page. “Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it: and Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.”

Rupert nuzzled his cheek against Wesley’s hair, listening to his lilting voice read, and thought this was the best Christmas of his life too. 

~The End~


End file.
